


Tourist Season

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Another Obligatory Return to Malta Fic, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Canon Queer Character of Color, Canon Queer Relationship, Character Study, Clothed Sex, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings, Hair Pulling, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe Is a Romantic About Nicky Because Duh, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Malta, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Porn with Feelings, Post-Movie: The Old Guard (2020), Returning to Malta (The Old Guard), Romance, Rough Sex, Service Top, Service Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25508992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: They spend thirty minutes in the taxi from the airport to their hotel in the Bay, during which the downpour intensifies, but Nicky's head is leaning against the window and he's quietly smiling seemingly at nothing but himself. Their fingers are touching on the seat between them, pinkies overlapping like sneaking schoolchildren. Bright sunshine is already starting to peek through the parting clouds, catching on the lighter specks of blue and green in Nicky's eyes.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 98
Kudos: 1018





	1. Joe

It starts raining while they're moving in the queue for Passport Control. A little irked, Joe stares out the nearest window distractedly until Nicky touches at his shoulder, which clears his frown almost by magic. He turns and smiles and walks the rest of the line unbothered.

They spend thirty minutes in the taxi from the airport to their hotel in the Bay, during which the downpour intensifies, but Nicky's head is leaning against the window and he's quietly smiling seemingly at nothing but himself. Their fingers are touching on the seat between them, pinkies overlapping like sneaking schoolchildren. Bright sunshine is already starting to peek through the parting clouds, catching on the lighter specks of blue and green in Nicky's eyes.

Undeterred by their driver potentially catching sight of them through the rearview mirror, Joe leans in to briefly smear their mouths together. Genuinely, he would have to dig down for a reason _not_ to. He tastes airport coffee and warmth.

Pulling back out of Nicky's space as easily as he breached it, he licks at his own lips, wishing they were already alone. He loves Andy and is slowly but surely welcoming Nile into his heart, but it's Nicky who _is_ his heart, wholly and unreservedly. He craves _time_ , for them and them alone. It's maybe a selfish sort of love, but it's the only one he's got.

Nicky's left hand covers the back of his right. Joe bites his lip and stares at the fat water drops hitting the windshield for the remainder of their drive.

By the time they reach their guesthouse, the rain's cleared completely, only pale blue skies and yellow sunshine everywhere. Nicky checks them in, speaking smiling rapid-fire Italian at the Villa's owners behind the reception desk. Joe loiters by the lift doors, both their bags by his feet, fingertips vaguely itching by his sides.

"We missed lunch," Nicky informs him as they wait for the doors to open. Joe grunts something out, but, honestly, he himself doesn't know what he quite means to say right now. He's not hungry, but he knows they should eat at some point. He tends to think too much when he goes without food, whether on purpose or not.

Dwelling on Booker and their parting of ways isn't how he wants to spend their much-earned downtime, but doubt frays at the edges of his mind anyway. He decides minibar food is a decent compromise.

Whitewashed walls, sparkling with their whiteness, and deep blue accents greet them. The bed is promisingly large. By the side there's a vanity with a conspicuously high mirror Joe has to admit he has ideas about. He turns to place their bags on one of the seats on the other side of the room, Nicky investigating the bathroom behind him. The glass on the balcony doors is spotless, the metal frames thin and barely noticeable, the view onto the beach about a kilometre away thus unimpeded. Sunshine everywhere, as if the heavy rain from barely an hour ago never existed to begin with.

Arms encircle him from behind, and Joe leans into Nicky's chest, suddenly and desperately grateful for his touch and his very presence. Nicky presses a kiss to the back of his neck before placing his chin on Joe's shoulder, arms tightening around his ribcage, palms folding over each other, fingers starfished with fingertips edging at the place where his heart should be. Joe's often wondered what goes on inside them, what this gift of theirs has changed in the places they can't see.

"Where are you?" Nicky whispers close enough to his ear that his breath brushes the sensitive skin there, shivers crawling down Joe's spine. They've been close since the last time, they're always within reach of each other, but it's been since before Morocco that they've done more. This feels like it's leading towards _more_.

Grasping at Nicky's arms, Joe says, "Right here with you." And he is.

He means to suggest they appropriate whatever mini-chocolates and tiny bottles of cheap wine and the like they can find, but, somehow, when he finishes turning in Nicky's arms their eyes lock on each other and it locks them into silence. Nicky's cheeks redden faintly and his fingers clutch at the back of Joe's shirt as Joe watches his eyes drag across his face to settle on Joe's mouth.

He doesn't know who leads whom to the bed as such, but they shortly end up on it nonetheless. Perhaps Nicky pulled him along and Joe pushed his way forward, two forces united towards the same goal.

Sprawled between Nicky's legs, arms loosely around Nicky's shoulders, elbows digging into the firm mattress, Joe takes a moment to stare in sudden wonder, but Nicky's own arms grip at him to pull him down into a kiss. He's half-hard in no time at all from sucking on Nicky's tongue, his moans filling Joe's ears and reverberating through their pressed-together chests. He gets his knees beneath him and Nicky kicks his shoes off before he crosses his ankles behind Joe's back, who awkwardly manages to kick his own shoes off without disentangling himself from Nicky. They proceed to wrestle each other on the bed taking their clothes off without never quite breaking the kiss.

They have to part to take their shirts off, though. Immediately, Joe regrets it, but he _is_ rewarded with a naked Nicky lying across clean, cool sheets, so it's admittedly worth every second of distance.

He gets distracted from more kissing by needing to lick his way down Nicky's chest. It's imperative he do so. Nicky doesn't seem to have any objections, sinking his fingers into Joe's hair to guide his head along, although, truth be told, Joe has a definite destination in mind he doesn't need directions to.

He licks and nips his way down down _down_ , barely grazing at Nicky's hip bones, until his mouth is within easy reach should Nicky feel so compelled. Raising his eyes, Joe thinks as hard as he can, _do it, use me_ , hard enough he's sure his mouth will soon speak it without his conscious mind's approval. But Nicky beats him to breaking the silence between them.

"Don't look at me like that," he mutters, his breathing laboured already from nothing at all. Not that Joe's doing much better.

"Like what?" Joe asks, but he knows like what.

Nicky laughs breathlessly. His fingers clench and unclench in Joe's hair. A muscle in his left thigh twitches. Joe is immeasurably fond. Could stare at him all day and into the night. But he has a mission here, after all.

He opens his mouth and leans in to swallow Nicky's cock down until it stretches his throat wide open. He believes Nicky yells out his name, or it could just be a bout of pure nonsense. Joe can't tell for sure with the buzzing in his head as his throat flutters around Nicky, his breaths intentionally slow and measured so he doesn't choke himself just yet. That might come later if Nicky wanted to play that way tonight, after they explored a little outside their room.

Right now, he sucks his way tightly up and down the shaft, settling his weight on his elbows, pressing his palms flat to Nicky's hips to hold him down. With spit running from his open mouth down Nicky's cock into the light thatch of hair near the base, it feels particularly dirty, especially when, every few seconds, Nicky gives another aborted thrust upwards and pulls at Joe's hair hard enough his scalp tingles from it.

He messes around with shallow swallows and sucking on the head for a long time. Nicky gets comfortable, too, although his blush has now crawled down his chest to his midsection, feverish-looking like a sunburn. Even Nicky's nipples are flushed, and that small detail is what makes Joe a little frenzied once more.

Once he gets Nicky's cockhead back to poking down his throat, it only takes for him to pucker his lips obscenely tightly at the root and suck for all he's worth for Nicky to groan several times in a row, hips going ballistic, before he shivers from head to toe and starts coming. Joe pulls midway up his cock to catch his come in his mouth and avoid choking. He manages to swallow competently, and moves off completely to lick at the rest until both his mouth and Nicky's cock are clean.

"Yusuf," Nicky breathes, decidedly Joe's name this time around.

Joe's stomach rumbles before they can move on to more. Nicky pokes his toes at his hip, a warm smile playing at the corners of his lips, but Joe's off the mattress before they can do more.

They end up sitting naked and cross-legged in the middle of the bed, chewing on Snickers and sharing a bottle of refrigerated water.


	2. Nicky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They switch places at the sink, shoulders brushing as they pass each other, Nicky's shirtsleeve catching at Joe's wet skin. While Joe gets dressed, he lingers in the doorway between rooms to watch him, brushing methodically._

Strangely, showering off the sweat and spit and leftover aeroplane stench crammed up together in the tiny shower stall doesn't lead to more sex. Even though Nicky tries to go to his knees more than once, unsuccessfully. But Joe seems to prefer shampooing his hair clean rather than have Nicky's mouth around him. Nicky follows his lead, in that he allows it—standing barely a breath away, blinking droplets of water out of their eyes, cheeks flushed, Joe's arms reaching around him to grip at his hair and massage his scalp—and then takes his turn returning the favour.

It is just _them_ , and they have the time for more _later_.

By the time they exit the bathroom it's near enough to dinner time that Nicky towels off and grabs a clean shirt out of his bag without much preamble, then stares critically at their bedsheets. He calls out to Joe, who is currently brushing his teeth in the nude at the bathroom mirror, "Remember to ask for housekeeping."

They switch places at the sink, shoulders brushing as they pass each other, Nicky's shirtsleeve catching at Joe's wet skin. While Joe gets dressed, he lingers in the doorway between rooms to watch him, brushing methodically. Then they leave a tip by the nightstand before heading downstairs.

They go to the promenade, of course, because Joe is a romantic and Nicky likes to pretend he gives in to his whims. They've never been _tourists_ while in Malta, not truly, but they can playfully lead each other by the hand with the other cocking an eyebrow before widening his eyes as if in wonder and surprise. Never mind that Nicky would much rather catch Joe's eyes with his own and hold them for too long, then push him down a narrow alleyway to lick and bite at his mouth.

"Gelato?" Joe suggests, the last dregs of sunshine catching at the edges of his curls.

Nicky scrunches his nose up. "Before actual food?" he protests, side-eyeing him, recalling the Snickers bars. "We're abandoning proper meals now?"

Shrugging, Joe directs them down several streets to a pizzeria Nicky remembers fondly from last time, muttering the entire walk there, "Have it your way. I was offering for your sake," as if Nicky's the one being ridiculous.

But the pizza is good, the fugassa is better, and Joe even lets him pick out some wine for them, never mind he wrinkles his nose at it with every sip.

They had to climb through a window to get to a cosy rooftop table area, minuscule and thus peaceful. The owner's husband hails from Liguria, a tiny village lost to time, their conversation flowing like fresh water over river stones with his every pass by their table. And Nicky can't stop smiling and biting his lip, stained from the oily fugassa and the rich tomato sauce and the sweet summer wine. He could live another hundred years in this moment with Joe leaning fully into his chair across from him, one hand on the table, wrist skimming the edges of the wood. He watches his fingers on the porcelain of his espresso cup, the nail touching at the rim.

They could linger. They could close the place. They don't. Instead, they drink the water which comes with their coffee and pass on dessert with patient smiles.

Unsurprisingly, the crowd hasn't died down in any form by the time they reach the promenade again. If anything, the evening has only just truly started for most, it seems.

The Villa is, thankfully, quiet. The lift is waiting for them. Faint talk from behind one of the closed doors indicates they aren't alone on their floor, but, by the time they reach their room, the conversation flows into the corridor towards the lift, and then they appear to be the only ones staying in for the rest of the night. Joe's key-card beeps green into the lock, and Nicky passes him, already reaching for the first light on his right, which warms the space up with a dim, soft glow.

He can see the edge of the bed from the doorway. The sheets are fresh, not a wrinkle in sight. Housekeeping, he notices once fully inside, has changed their towels and mopped up the bathroom as well. The door clicks behind him.

Joe doesn't so much turn him around as offer himself for Nicky to fall into, and they meet into a kiss Nicky didn't realise he's been craving since he watched Joe raise his arm at the elbow—skin flushed from the heat, a slight sweat stain at his underarm, muscles tensing from the movement—to motion their host for the check. Now, he clutches at his upper arms and opens his mouth for Joe's tongue, tasting bitter coffee on top of the spices and herbs from dinner.

They're too hot. Literally too hot. From the wine and the food and the humidity, leftover heat from hours before going to their heads. Nicky elects to raise the hem of Joe's shirt enough to palm at his belly and torso, and maybe he should use the opportunity to start divesting him of his clothing but he gets sidetracked at his pecs while Joe's hands are unmistakably fondling the backs of his thighs unabashedly. Nicky's on his tiptoes when he should be encouraging more nakedness instead.

Joe walks him backwards, never leaving his mouth, sucking on his tongue as if they haven't shared a kiss in millennia. Nicky moans and presses his fingers to the tight row of muscles above his belly button, as if testing the solidity of them, even though he knows Joe's body better than his own. Knows how much it can take. Knows what it can do for him. Finally, he takes Joe's shirt off him, breaking the kiss, then runs one hand through his hair where it's a little long on top and grips it loosely.

"So?" he breathes, a little harshly.

Joe laughs, but it cuts off oddly. His hands haven't left Nicky's thighs, his fingers splayed towards the crease. Nicky tightens his grip on his hair, and Joe inhales sharply and waits too long of a beat before saying, "So." He walks him another couple of steps until the vanity stops them in their tracks. The obscene motion of Joe's throat as he swallows heavily is entrancing. Nicky pushes him away by his hair.

Turning around on his own, Nicky takes his own shirt off, leaving it to fall by his side, before bracing his hands on the edge of the vanity. He takes one step back so the mirror isn't as off-puttingly close. In the reflection he can see Joe returning with the slick they've been using as of late. No condom. They're on holiday, and they can be messy all they like, within reason. _This_ is reasonable.

They could finish undressing, but neither does, not fully. Joe unbuckles and unzips them both, then picks up the tube where he left it near Nicky's hand, with the other palming at Nicky's waist and his lower back. He drags his waistband low and then lower, until it hangs at his mid-thighs. Obligingly, Nicky widens his stance and locks his elbows to remain upright. Joe doesn't waste any time after that.

Pressing kisses to the back of his neck, he opens him up on his fingers. Nicky bites his lip bloody, tries his best to quiet the moans and stifle his grunts into the roundness of his shoulder, but Joe's fingers are nicely thick, clever the way they know how to stretch him and make him feel it deeper than he probably should. One arm encircles his waist, and Nicky leans back into his chest, even though it means there's barely any space between them.

"Like this?" Joe mutters, sounding a little desperate. His cock is hard and smearing pre-come at the sensitive skin of Nicky's inner thighs.

He tries to give a coherent answer, and manages only, "Yusuf." His right hand leaves the vanity to sink into Joe's hair, merely holding on rather than guiding him, although his head dips forward to press his forehead to the back of Nicky's neck as if it has been waiting for a sign to do so all along.

He barely gets two fingers after that, but Joe does slick him up some more before pulling away to do the same to himself. His left hand tenses where it's still holding him upright, as do the fingers in Joe's hair, more anticipation than anything else.

Finally, after what feels like hours of teasing, his cockhead sinks in with a wide stretch, and, with this angle, it means Nicky can feel him in his throat from the very start, too much and exactly what he wanted. He rises on his toes, just a little, ankles extending, to better cant his hips back to meet his first push in. He can't help twitching around him when he's fully inside, to the root, and Joe weakly moans into his ear.

"Yes?" Nicky whispers. He yanks at his hair with little care, and Joe mewls, but he pulls nearly all the way out only to rock back in with a rough thrust that bumps Nicky's hip bones into the table.

"Sorry, sorry, _fuck_ ," Joe tries, but Nicky shushes him, "Come on," and squirms on his cock until he gets what he wants, Joe starting a steady rhythm of deep, broad strokes.

He doesn't know when he closed his eyes, but he opens them now to be greeted with his reflection surrounded by Joe everywhere, both arms around him as his cock pistons inside him. He focuses on the muscles in his forearms, what he can see of Joe from behind him. He gets little from looking at his own face and body, but even just the little he can see of Joe is enough to have him flushing even more, cock bobbing in front of him from Joe fucking inside, leaking down its length into the hair at the root.

If he could bruise, there would be marks where his hips keep bumping the wood and perhaps on the backs of his thighs from Joe's increasingly wild thrusts.

They can't do it like this during missions. This is for when it's just the two of them, apart from the others, alone together in this. Nicky loves it so much he wants to ask for it all the fucking time, but they shouldn't when they've got a task at hand, bad people and bad things to take care of. They shouldn't lose themselves in each other like this.

Which is why Nicky knows it can't last. They get it too seldom. He can already tell from Joe's choppy rhythm, and, soon enough, he's proven right when Joe pulls all the way out on the backs of a particularly hard thrust in, his cockhead poking at the side of his rim, but that must have been enough, because he doesn't sink back inside before Nicky feels him spilling between them. He's already panting into his neck, and Nicky, feeling him leaning fully into him, finally relinquishes his hold to use both arms to steady them.

Joe recovers exceptionally quickly to turn him around and fall to his knees again. Nicky doesn't need much more than the tender softness at the inside of his mouth. As before, Joe swallows him down completely, dreamily even, eyes never leaving Nicky's face, who feels as if he's been turned inside out by the end of it, nearly tripping in his own clothes, dizzy with the pleasure.

They don't bother washing up. The bedding is fresh, and there's more where that came from tomorrow.

They sink into each other as they sink into bed, Joe's arms predictably around him, where they should be always. Nicky can scent the fresh sweat on him, earthy, mouth-watering, but it's a weak thought, something for later when they aren't falling asleep on and into each other.

The aches he's feeling won't be more than a memory come morning. Nicky wishes he could keep them, but settles for Joe putting more on him again and again and again.

They sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and leave kudos, or just comment, or just leave kudos, or do neither. Whatever you're comfortable with. I'm just glad you're here. Please keep yourself safe out there. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


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